


Kitty

by parjil



Series: Special Agent Catherine Miller, FBI [1]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: FBI!Catherine, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parjil/pseuds/parjil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hated being called Kitty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitty

“What ya doin’, Kitty?” Her mother had named her Catherine, after her grandmother she was told, and Mama took to calling her Kathy because that was easier for a toddler to say and spell than Catherine was. Her Papa, however, always called her Kitty. It had started when she was three years old and had dressed up as a black cat for Halloween that year. 

_‘Blue eyed kitty cat.’_ He’d said, carrying her in from a night of Trick-or-treating. She’d meowed at him in response and offered him a lollipop from her pillowcase of goodies. It had garnered her a laugh, a warm smile, and a bedtime story. _‘I love you, Kitty.’_ He’d write that in every letter he sent while he was deployed during the 80′s and say at the end of every phone call before she had to go to bed. _‘Kitty, it wasn’t your fault.’_ He said when Nadine filed for divorce just four months after Catherine had moved in with them to attend UCLA. The marriage had been strained, anyway, Papa explained. _‘I’m proud of you, Kitty.’_ Was said four times by her Papa. Three times when she received her two bachelor’s and her master’s; the fourth when she had graduated from the Academy at Quantico at age twenty five.

_‘Thanks for the help, Kitty.’_ Papa had said over beers and burgers when they finished building his home in Alaska. She’d broken four of her fingers building that three-story monster that he had insisted on, despite her saying that a single floor with a basement would be far more cheaper to do. Catherine bundled the memories up to the furthest part of her conscious mind. She’d let the flood gates go and drink herself into a stupor tonight. That was fine with her; she was off-duty tomorrow anyway. 

What felt like decades in her mind was only three seconds in reality. Her fists balled and shook; her nails dug into her palms. Her voice was hostile when she said, “It’s Catherine or Agent Miller, to you.” 

Since Papa died, she hated being called Kitty.


End file.
